


The Speech

by buttercups3



Series: Taurean Birthday Bash [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: M/M, Marine years, Pre-Monroe family death, Rachel and Ben's wedding, Sexual Content, Totally Gay Boys (TGB)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ben asks Miles to be his best man nearly everyone, most especially Miles, is afraid the laconic Marine is not up to the task. But Bass keeps the faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Speech

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ivy_B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_B/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, Ivy! Yours is the only Taurean birthday gift I was able to keep happy(ish)! ;) I did try to reduce the sex to a minimum (and yes, you're going to laugh when you see what "a minimum" is. *headdesk*) Loads of love to you!
> 
> Special thanks to Tenae for betaing. xx

“Please tell me you’re not going through all the trouble of folding your clothes just to shove them in your duffel.” Bass shakes his curly head in mock-melancholy, the chain about his neck jingling.

Miles is standing there clad only in black boxer briefs and silver dogtags, sloppily folding his undershirts into odd, vaguely trapezoidal blobs, while Bass tries to figure out how Miles even _gets_ them that impractically shaped. They are terrible for stacking and defy any packing logic. Miles’ tags get tangled in one of his shirts, and he wages an angry skirmish with it.

Bass sighs. “Well don’t hurt it. It’s your only nice button down, bud.”

He drags his eyes away from the dark fur trail down Miles’ belly to glance at their fellow Marines playing poker on Chowder’s bed in various states of undress before light’s out.

Bass finally waves off Miles. “Man, let me. Just step aside. Go on, now.” Miles plops down on his bunk, threading his fingers through his tags and crossing his long legs so that his crotch is fully exposed to Bass. Bass fights to stop staring. It’s the knowledge that they’ll actually be able to do something about their unremitting horniness in the near future that’s getting him all worked up. Miles shakes his foot in agitation now. “You all right there, sarge? Nervous in the service?”

Miles shrugs. “I just… I don’t get why he made me his best man. Shoulda picked one of his grad school buddies. I don’t even know him that well.”

Bass rolls his eyes, and after lining up Miles’ clothes neatly in the bag, zips it up with a look of satisfaction. “He’s your brother, Miles. _Of course_ you know him. Being his best man is tradition.”

Miles shrugs again, blackish eyes aflame.

“Oh look on the bright side, Eeyore. In a matter of,” Bass checks his watch, “hours, since we have to be up at the buttcrack of dawn, we’ll be boarding a plane and getting the hell out of fucking base for a few weeks. And you know what that means,” Bass waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Then in case anyone’s listening, he adds, “Beer, women, and freedom!”

Of course, what he really means is they can finally bang each other’s brains out. Miles only glares at Bass, which triggers in Bass a moment of insecurity. He’s always afraid that during the long celibate periods, Miles will lose interest and move on.

Bass really has nothing to worry about. Miles is desperate for Bass’ skin and trying not to let his eyes wander down the ripples of Bass’ chest toward the gray boxer briefs and the bulge within. Damn, Miles looks anyway and has to cross his legs tightly to counteract the stirring.

His antsy brain flits back to Ben. Miles is genuinely terrified that he won’t be what Ben needs. _Again_. The thought of even giving a public speech, let alone writing one, makes Miles sick to his stomach. He’s no wordsmith, can barely stand hauling his eyes over a page to read. Bass is probably going to have to write it for him. _Shit_.

When the boys finally turn in, Bass on the top bunk and Miles on the bottom, they both jerk off quietly as they do every night, fantasizing about the other. Though mere feet apart, there might as well be a vast chasm between them. Each listens attentively to the other: can hear the man’s rapid breathing and his muffled whimper at the end. Tonight, they’re nearly in sync. They never discuss this, but it’s the only intimacy they can share under the circumstances. (Besides, it’s likely every Marine in the rack is beating the meat right now; it’s not as if anyone would fault them this indulgence.) When Miles is finished he flips over and buries his face in his pillow. It’s hard not to be a little jealous of Ben. He gets to marry the person he loves, while Miles is forced to pretend that hardness he held was Bass’.

Suddenly, for no reason, Miles feels like he could cry. He fists his pillow and wills himself to sleep.

* * *

Though they’ve flown into ORD, their first stop is home to visit the Monroes, then back to Chicago for the festivities. The whole flight Miles has been sinking deeper and deeper into melancholy, and by the time they’re shuffling toward baggage claim, Bass isn’t sure he can take anymore of Miles’ glowering and sighing.

Bass spots a “family” bathroom – a single stall – and yanks Miles in before he can protest.

“Oh shut up and kiss me,” Bass orders, slamming Miles backward into the stained wall of the tiny bathroom, while reaching around him to flip shut the lock.

As Bass’ hot breath descends on his face, Miles instantly worries what people will think when two Marines in their dress blues emerge from a single bathroom together. He objects right into Bass mouth, until Bass’ tongue silences him with slick, luxuriant strokes. Bass pauses to suck on Miles’ bottom lip, buzzing a laugh there, leaning his forehead heavily against Miles’ furrowed brow. Bass shifts his thigh in between the long legs and contacts a wall of arousal.

Miles full-on whimpers then, and Bass takes this as a sign to go all the way. Miles does not have the willpower to stop him, but he does grumble, “If you get even one drop of jizz on my uniform, I’ll kill you.”

“Mm, I’m so scared,” Bass mocks, unzipping Miles’ fly with his graceful fingers and reaching into the flap of his boxers. “Yeah, you don’t want this at all. You’re practically dripping.” When Bass goes in for another kiss, Miles’ lips are parted and waiting.

“Shut up!” Miles growls into his mouth, thrusting in his tongue deeper. “Could be kids passing b- uh!” Miles fumbles into Bass’ pants then, too, as Bass removes their dress covers and sets them on the sink.

It’s not very romantic that after nearly a year of deprivation they have to wring each other out over the toilet, because (despite Bass’ bravado) neither _does_ want to have to bring his uniform to the cleaners marred by obvious stains. But they know once they see Gail at baggage claim, their attention will inevitably shift from each other to family, so this is really their only chance for many hours to release their pent-up tension.

Miles washes his hands in the sink, as Bass wraps his arms around the larger body from behind and lays his cheek gently upon Miles’ shoulder blade. Tenderness spreads through Miles’ muscles, and he reaches up to give Bass’ arm a little squeeze. Now Bass looks melancholic too. You’d think a little sex would cheer them up after all this time, but instead it just reminds them of how they they're reduced to this: hurried hand jobs in a public bathroom. It hurts them both.

At baggage claim, they don’t even have a visual on Bass’ mother before the girls have run them down like tiny bulls and tangled themselves all over their big brother, giggling. Next Angie flings herself around Miles’ middle and compresses him so hard he gasps but hugs her back.

“Hey Cyn!” Miles greets. The elder sister is too shy to hug him, her eternal crush reddening her dainty cheeks. She stays buried in Bass’ armpit and waves. As usual Angie makes Miles carry her, wearing Miles’ dress cover, while Cyn remains clamped to Bass like a barnacle, tripping him as he drags her along.

Then they’re standing in front of Gail.

“Ah! My handsome boys!” she greets, leaning over Cynthia to kiss and embrace her son, and then repeating the same ritual with Miles. Miles’ heart actually burns a little at her kindness toward him, making him feel like he has a mother again. Like someone actually cares he’s home when the truth is no one really does.

“Will’s at work, but he can’t wait to see you two,” she explains. 

For dinner that night she’s made all their favorites, and the boys eat so much they turn in with painfully distended stomachs. Bass only has a twin bed at home, so Miles sacks out on the floor, his arms under his head. He stares at the ceiling trying to wrack his brains for ideas for the speech.

“You look like you’re about to stain your pants, man. What are you doing?” Bass asks, hovering over him from above.

“Speech.”

Bass sighs. “What do you have so far?”

“Haven’t written anything. I just… you know me. I’m terrible with words, and Ben and I…”

“You’re not as terrible with words as you think,” Bass encourages gently. “Come up here and lie with me.” He pats the familiar plaid comforter.

“Lie with you? What is this, the Bible? And no, man, your bedroom door doesn’t lock, and your sisters might come barging in, and we’ll traumatize them for life.”

“We don’t have to _do_ anything. Come on, I’ll help you brainstorm.”

“Fine,” Miles heaves a sigh and rolls up beside Bass, who scoots over for him and then settles onto Miles’ chest. The bed is far too miniscule for two grown men, let alone two Marines in peak condition. Miles rakes his fingers through Bass’ curls and after a moment even kisses them. His chest hurts. It’s so stupid, but he can’t help thinking he wishes it were Bass and him getting married. So, so stupid. They’ll never be able to be together like that.

Bass relishes the soothing thuds of Miles’ heartbeat, his cheek rising and falling with each of Miles’ breaths. Bass squeezes his eyelids together and whispers, “Love you.” It’s a little out of the blue, and Bass constantly tries to control himself, to keep from saying it too often since Miles isn’t like that. Isn’t verbal. Miles kisses Bass’ soft hair again and nuzzles down a bit further into his companion.

“Well put your amorousness to work and help me write this speech,” Miles says at last.

Bass presses his lips to Miles’ pec and says, “Why don’t you just make a list of your favorite memories together? The times you laughed or smiled…”

“What times were those, Bass? Come on. Ben and I were never friends. It was always you and me.”

“I know, babe, but you’re going to have to try.” Bass can’t help but feel a little pleased.

They end up making no progress on the speech but somehow convince themselves that if they make love very, very quietly, no one will notice. Miles falls asleep, warm and sweaty, wound entirely around Bass, and Bass has to prod him off the bed very carefully. The big body flops in a heap on the sleeping bag below. Bass leans over the edge of the mattress to make sure Miles is okay, and then tosses a blanket over him to hide his nakedness.

* * *

They’re at the head table at the reception, Miles seated between Rachel and Bass. It’s rather sweet - clearly Rachel’s doing - that Bass is allowed to sit with Miles despite the fact that he’s not technically a groomsman. (It’s kind of like he’s actually Miles’ date.) Miles’ leg is shaking violently beneath the tablecloth, and Bass discreetly rests a hand on the strong thigh to still it, the muscle ticking under his fingers. They briefly lock eyes and Bass cocks his head a fraction of an inch. _Calm down_ , his blue eyes counsel. Miles has fearlessly stared down the enemy in Iraq, but it’s coming to grips with words that so desperately daunts him. 

A huge droplet of sweat slides off Miles’ chin and plops on the butter plate. Rachel’s eyes follow it down, and she slips her slender hand on top of Miles’ to apply pressure, the coolness of her skin taking the edge off his radiating fire. 

“You all right, Miles?” she says through a smile meant for someone behind him, but evidently catching his agitation like a contagious disease. 

Miles clears his throat. Best to get it over with. He lifts his knife to his champagne glass - _Not nearly drunk enough for this_ , he thinks - and whacks it once so hard that everyone at the head table holds their breaths in fear that it’ll shatter. But it doesn’t. He stands. 

Miles realizes in a sudden panic that he has no idea how to begin. _Hear ye, hear ye? Fuck!_ Bass swallows audibly below him. _Oh Christ, no one thinks I can do this._ Miles takes a deep breath, and like all great orators before him, begins with _um_. 

“Um, when Ben asked me to be his best man, a job we all knows comes with a speech, I was pretty worried because, uh, as most of you know, I don’t exactly say much.”

There’s a ripple of nervous laughter in the room and perhaps a few scowls, which instantly sets Bass on the defensive. Who are Ben’s friends to judge Miles? But if he’s honest, Bass is sweating uncomfortably into his suit, definitely on edge about where this might be heading. He makes a crazy bargain with himself that if he just _believes_ in Miles, Miles will be able to do this. But if Bass’ faith falters, well, it’ll surely go to hell. Bass grits his jaw painfully. 

“Uh, Ben and I grew up in a pretty crap town- no offense to those of you here from Jasper.” There’s insulted murmuring at that but Miles plows ahead, “and we didn’t exactly get along, were as different as two people could be. I liked to play sports, and Ben liked to play video games. Ben was valedictorian of his class and I was, well, I think it’s fair to say I’m way more scared of algebra than weapons of mass destruction.” 

There’s a minute laugh at that, and Bass resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. _Come on, Miles. You can do this._ Yeah, he’s reduced to silently pep-talking his best friend off the edge of this cliff.

Miles runs his large fingers through his glossy hair and catches on a callous, making a tuft at the back stand up. So now he looks a bit deranged for the middle part (? Bass doesn’t dare to hope it’s already the end) of his painful oration. 

“I… um, you probably know our mom died when we were kids. Well, yeah, you do because they mentioned it at the ceremony.” Ben cringes and Rachel reaches over for her new husband’s hand to intertwine her fingers. “So that was pretty hard on us. And Pop wasn’t really there… or not in the traditional sense. I mean he’s not _here_ obviously.” 

_Christ._ Bass can’t help it. His forehead sinks into his hand. Bringing up the fact that Pop Matheson couldn’t be bothered to show up to his eldest son’s wedding? Bass is beginning to ponder jumping up and interrupting Miles to save him from this train wreck. This is worse than the worst possible scenario he imagined.

“So my big brother, he was kind of a mom _and_ dad to me. Ben taught me how to shave and how to drive. He helped me with my homework. _That_ can’t have been fun. Ben even tried to give me the sex talk, but he must have forgotten I have the crassest best friend in the entire world.” 

People genuinely laugh at that (Bass included), and some even have tears blooming in their eyes (Rachel does). 

“For this speech I tried to think of memories when Ben and I had good times together, and I couldn’t really think of any, and that’s not because Ben’s not any fun to hang out with. It’s because, honestly, our lives at home as kids weren’t really that fun. But when I stopped to think about it, Ben set an example for me in everything he did - a million little things over the years that made me the man I am. At least the parts I’m proud of. Ben’s also a lot of things I’m not that I greatly admire. He’s kind and patient and calm. So yeah. Our childhood kind of sucked, but I’m really glad for Ben that he’s making a new family for himself with Rachel.” 

Miles gazes earnestly down at his new sister-in-law as she carefully wipes a tear so as not to upset her mascara. Ben’s eyes beside her look rather bright as well. 

“You guys deserve happiness, and I believe you’ll find it together. So… here’s to Ben and Rachel and the family they’ve started today.” Miles raises his glass to a chorus of “Hear, hears,” “To Ben and Rachel,” and more than a few sniffles. 

Rachel and Ben both stand, but because Rachel is closer, she gets her arms around Miles’ neck first and kisses his (for once) cleanly shorn cheek. “Thank you. That was beautiful.”

Miles looks a little dazed but then Ben has stepped around her and wrapped his arm around Miles’ tight shoulders. “Thanks. Love you, little brother.” 

Miles swallows dryly and downs the rest of his champagne, while Bass smiles into his own flute. When Miles finally plops back into his chair, deflated and exhausted, Bass threads his fingers into Miles’ beneath the tablecloth where they can keep their secret. 

“Was it ok?” Miles whispers to him. 

“You did good, bud,” Bass reassures. 

Miles has never been one for slow dancing, but in his utter relief at the conclusion of his duties and his rush of sentimentality for his big brother and for the man quietly caressing his thumb, part of him wants to wrap his arms around Bass’ waist, press cheek to cheek, and just drift. But that’s not Miles. He lifts the finger of his free hand to request another drink, something stiffer this time.


End file.
